


Life Isn't Easy When Bruce Wayne's Your Ward

by ksaan



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Batman - All Media Types, Batman Begins (2005), Dark Knight (2008)
Genre: Comfort, Family Fluff, Feels, Gen, Other, awesomealfredisawesome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-15
Updated: 2014-10-27
Packaged: 2017-11-16 08:14:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/537366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ksaan/pseuds/ksaan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alfred's been through a lot these past years, but has anyone ever wondered what it was like to be him as all these radical events happened? Wonder no more! Some crucial moments and events from our favorite British butler's eyes! Feels and family fluff will ensue!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Call

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for stumbling across this and taking the time to read it! On a recent rewatch of Batman Begins, I got the urge to write some parts of the story from Alfred's POV. So here's the first one. I hope you all enjoy and leave some comments telling me what you liked/didn't like. I hope you enjoy this story and the feels that ensue! :)  
> (It's also posted over on my ffnet account, which is under the same name)

When he got the call, he'd been sitting in front of a roaring fire, reading. He had been expecting a phone call, presumably from Master Wayne asking to be picked up from the opera, but the one he got was too early for that. When he answered in his usual cheery fashion, "Hello Alfred Pennyworth speaking," he didn't know what was about to hit him. The voice on the other end introduced himself as Sergeant James Gordon from GPD. There was an accident, he said. A mugging gone wrong. He sounded weary and sad. Someone needs to come get Bruce, he said. Is there anyone?

"Only me. I'll be there soon." The realization that there wasn't anyone else to go get Bruce struck him so hard he felt like he'd be punched in the chest. He loaded himself into the car, going through the motions but not really thinking about it. All he could think about was Thomas, dead, Martha, dead, and now poor, young Bruce left to deal with it all.

"Well I won't have any of it." He found himself whispering to the night. He was going to try his best to shield and help Bruce through this. The boy had been through enough already. Alfred pulled up to the Gotham City Police Headquarters, which was already swarming with press. He scowled.

Alfred parked the car in a tow zone, not really giving a damn about it at that moment. The press hollered at him, probably recognizing him as the Wayne Family butler. A young police officer met him at the door, carefully guiding him through the throngs of officers and media that were congregating inside the building.

"He hasn't spoken to anyone, Sir. He seems to be in shock." Alfred could tell the officer was new to the business.

"Well of course he's in bloody shock." He didn't mean to come off as brash as he did, but all he wanted was to collect Bruce and go home. The officer handed him off to another, presumably Sergeant Gordon.

"Mr. Pennyworth." They shook hands.

"Where's Bruce?" He could tell Gordon was worn thin.

"We have him in the back. I just felt that I'd brief you on the situation, well," Gordon paused to run a hand through prematurely graying hair. "Things are going to be tough the next few weeks. And the boy," he looked back at the door behind him, where he knew Bruce was sitting huddled in his father's jacket. "he's going to need you." Alfred nodded. He let Gordon tell him the details, how they'd found Bruce sitting between his bleed-out parents, how the police had already caught the man responsible. But to Alfred, it was already over. He didn't want to know the details. The details would do nothing for him except cause more unwanted pain.

"May I collect Bruce now, Sergeant?"

"Yes, this way." Gordon nodded sadly and led Alfred through the door. What he saw was truly a sight that broke a piece inside of him. The image of Bruce, looking much younger than he was, wrapped in his father's coat and clinging on for life, the bustle of the officers passing him, the pity looks they threw upon him, it all made Alfred want to wrap Bruce in his own coat and take him away. Away from it all.

"Bruce." It wasn't a question. Alfred knelt down in front of him, one hand on his knee. "Are you ready to go home?" The boy nodded quickly, jumping up at Alfred's touch.

"Goodnight sir." Alfred nodded at Gordon, taking Bruce close to him as they walked back out through the police department.

"But Alfred," Bruce started. They were in the car at this time, having managed to evade the press.

"Yes Master Bruce?"

"It wasn't a good night." The quiet sobs from Bruce in the back seat drove Alfred to pull over, climb in the back alongside his ward, which in the back of his mind he thought, son, because that's what he was going to become, and fold him into his coat.

"I know Master Bruce. I know."


	2. The Blinking Red Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this chapter prior to seeing TDKR, so I'm leaving this as it was previous to seeing the movie. I didn't really think about how I would continue this fic after the release of the movie, so I'll just play it out by ear.  
> Also, thanks for taking the time to read and I hope to hear your feedback! :)

The phone call came in while he was out on the greens, having a go at a game of golf. It had become a sort of solace for him, just walking out on the perfectly mown grass and putting around for the hell of it. It's not like he had much to do anymore. He had closed off all the parts of Wayne Manor that weren't being used, which was everything except the kitchen and his quarters. It was just too painful to walk and relive the memories trapped inside. In some odd occurrence, he had managed to outlive every member of the Wayne family. It all struck him as so wrong.

Once Bruce had been declared legally dead, and it pained him to think the word- dead - he found himself in a position that he'd never dreamed he'd be in. One that he resented. It was completely backwards. How come the bloody butler for christ's sake end up with all attributes the Wayne family will contained. It wasn't supposed to work this way. Somehow he'd ended up the one receiving letters and calls of sympathy. He didn't want them. He just wanted to grieve for the family he'd cared for, the one he'd raised, the one he'd sworn to protect, the one he felt like he failed.

At first, when Bruce had disappeared, he wasn't all too worried. He'll come home,

he will. But then weeks turned into months and eventually months turned into years. Even when the first year mark had passed and the board at Wayne Enterprises had him declared legally dead, Alfred still had hope that he'd find his way home, one way or another. He'd even kept the master bedroom up for awhile, fresh sheets, airing it out, sweeping the dust bunnies from behind the door and under the bed. Eventually though, he resigned himself to the fact that if Bruce ever showed up, he could make his own bloody bed.

The Rolls Royce was his first and only purchase with the money he was able to claim from the will. The prestige was never the draw, but more so the simple luxury of it. He felt pampered just by sitting in it, odd, for him. He hadn't taken the Rolls out to the course that day, not wanting to dirty the interior after he'd had his game. He was a slow golfer, a concentrator. He usually played alone, choosing to best his own personal records rather than someone else's. That day though, his scores were falling high above par. Something felt off, maybe the weather, he told himself. He went home early that day.

A blinking red light was usually something that Alfred chose to ignore. It generally meant that he had another message from the Board or from a newspaper or police officer. Somehow, those kept getting mistakenly deleted. Today though, he clicked the play button, figuring why not? It's not like it'll be anything new.

He felt like he was having a heart attack. A part of him couldn't believe it, while most of him was barely surprised at the voice on the recording. Did he really believe that Bruce had died? No. No he didn't. Did he ever think he'd be flying to Southeast Asia to pick him up? Never. Bruce hadn't said much. Just that he needed to 'return to Gotham.' Oh plus the fact that he was in Asia and needed Alfred to come get him. He didn't have a return number to call, so Alfred just set about making plane arrangements. He was in the air in less than an hour.

As the plane journeyed on through the skies, something was reforming itself inside Alfred. He couldn't quite put his finger on what it was though. Hope, maybe. He didn't know what to expect when he saw Bruce. Would he be emaciated, fit, withdrawn? He spent the long trip in angst, worrying away the hours. The one flight attendant on board refilled his brandy twice, but otherwise left him alone. He was thankful for that, at least.

The time seemed to drag by, but at the same time it really did fly. Before he knew it, they were preparing for landing on a small, nearly desolate runway strip surrounded by snow-topped mountains. What has he been doing all these years? Alfred stood and stretched, his old joints popping and releasing all the tension he'd been carrying the past seven years.

"Would you like us to lower the stairs now Sir?" He absently shook his head, staring out the small window.

"Not yet." He didn't see Bruce yet. The waiting lasted only about five minutes, but to Alfred it seemed longer than the seven years. Finally, a figure appeared, walking across the tarmac.

"Lower them now, if you will." The attendant nodded and smiled, leaving to work the buttons. Alfred smoothed down his suit coat as he waited for the door to open. The person he saw coming slowly, but strongly, towards him was reserved, looking like he carried the weight of one hundred years upon his shoulders. Nonetheless he could barely compose himself, knowing that Bruce was indeed alive. Alive.

"Master Wayne, you've been gone a long time." He loved being able to say 'Master Wayne.'

"Yes I have." He didn't detect a hint of regret in Bruce's tone. Same old headstrong Bruce.

"You're looking very fashionable…apart from the mud." His words brought out a rueful grin, one that made Bruce look very young again. It was like he was getting reprimanded for playing in the back garden instead of the mountains in Asia. Bruce climbed the stairs and Alfred let him pass. A fresh set of clothes were set out for him to take, and he did so gratefully.

"Always prepared, Alfred." He smiled and left to change. The attendant started lifting up the stairs again and asked if he'd be needing anything. He asked for two glasses of water and that was that.

Alfred was a sentimental person, it showed in what he did and the very fiber of his being. So it didn't surprise him, or Bruce for that matter, when he enveloped Bruce in a hug, much like he did when he was just a young boy, feeling guilty for his parent's death.

"It's nice to have you back Master Wayne." Bruce smiled when he was released from the hug and patted Alfred's shoulder.

"So far it's nice to be back. I have some things I want to tell you about." He gestured to the two seats near the windows. They both sat. An uneasy feeling was starting to brew in the pit of his stomach.

"Are you coming back to Gotham for long sir?" He hoped he didn't sound too earnest.

"As long as it takes." Alfred didn't know how long 'it would take,' but for now, that was good enough for him.


	3. The Vigil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, obviously quite a long break happened between chapters two and three (almost a year goD!). And I do apologize to those of you that have really wanted another update. It was always coming, but there's this thing called life and it happened.
> 
> So sorry for the delay, but here it is, and I hope it doesn't disappoint. When will there be another update? No clue. Will there be one? Yes, there will.
> 
> I love reviews and constructive criticism so please please, feel free to leave something!
> 
> -k

When Alfred got the call, he’d been sitting in the study wringing his hands and alternating between sitting rigidly, and pacing in front of the piano. When the buzzer on his phone went off, he was up much faster than a man of his age should be and he answered the phone with no greeting. At first he just heard a heavy, labored breathing that mixed with the static coming through on the line. Then, he heard a gruff but distinct voice.

“Alfred! Help me!” He kept the phone near his ear but he was already running from the study, going far faster than he’d ever thought he could. He took the first car he saw, black and nondescript.

“Blood. Take. Take poison. Blood poison. Poison. Poisonous.” It was hard to make out Bruce’s next line, but he managed. Alfred started the car up and drove off with a purpose. No one would be up and driving around the Palisades at this hour anyway, so he decided that he could break the speed limit just this once. The car was mostly quiet as he drove, save for the rain, the thrumming engine, and the gasping and mumbling Bruce, who hadn’t disconnected the call. Alfred tried to stay composed, but this was something he’d be dreading ever since Bruce had donned the costume. Cuts he could stitch and bruises he could soothe, but poison? He wasn’t a bloody chemist. Alfred’s hands were white as he clenched the steering wheel, the GPS system locking onto Bruce’s position in the Narrows.

The longer he drove, the worse Bruce began to sound. It pained Alfred to hear the frightened muttering about Bruce’s parents and the bats that he hadn’t heard since he was a child. Every minute that passed the speedometer inched up higher and higher.

“Bruce if you can hear me I’m near your position,” he said wearily. Tall, dingy apartment complexes shot up on either side of the now-parked car. If his assumptions were correct and Bruce took shelter on a rooftop, then there was no way Alfred would be able to get him down to the ground.

“If you can you need to get yourself to the ground.” He mumbled after a minute of silence.  A pained grunt responded him after a short pause. Alfred exited the car, the rain automatically soaking through his blazer. He lifted his head towards the smoky, omnipresent gloom that always hung over the Narrows, looking for a dark shadow to emerge.

            “Bruce?” He whispered to the night. A series of metallic clangs and grunts responded to his call, and then there was Bruce, falling down the nearest fire escape. Alfred rushed to his side, his leather shoes sliding on the sludge that lived on the alley floor.

            “Al…fred.” A strangled word was all that he could discern from Bruce’s incoherent mumbling. Alfred grabbed under both of Bruce’s arms, attempting to drag him from his landing spot near a dumpster, to the backseat of the car.

            “Bloody hell Bruce must you weigh this much?” He muttered to himself, trying to ease the tension in his mind, and body. After ungracefully dumping, shoving, and tucking Bruce into the back as best he could, Alfred took a glance around and then reentered the car.

            The moment he did, the overwhelming smell of burnt rubber and fabric invaded his nose. He hadn’t noticed the stench before, but now that he was in an enclosed space with Bruce, it came to his attention. As he drove, his eyes kept glancing in the mirror, surveying the damage to the suit and to Bruce. What he saw, and most importantly what he _didn’t_ see, worried him greatly. On the outside, he detected scorch marks and tears, which led him to believe much worse damage would lie underneath the suit.

            “Just hold on Bruce.” He whispered.

 

 

           

            Alfred didn’t remember much of the journey from the car to the bedroom, and he was glad of it. Bruce never awoke during the arduous process of lugging him up the grand staircase and dragging him down the carpeted halls, and for that Alfred was grateful. Once he managed to get him to his room, Alfred went about methodically removing each piece of the suit, tossing it unceremoniously into a heap in the corner. He resented the suit, and he feared it too. He feared what it might mean for the only person he had left, and what it might mean for his own future.

            The feelings Alfred harbored only grew as he saw what plagued Bruce’s body. Deep bruises and burns littered the exposed skin, and Alfred set about cleansing and wrapping them to the best of his ability. He did so quietly, yet occasionally he would lightly scold Bruce for his carelessness, hoping that somehow it would ease the violent nightmares he feared his ward was having.

            He eventually managed to get Bruce settled into the bed, the grandiosity of it dwarfing the tossing and shaking form. Alfred sat down in an old oak chair, wrapping his old wool cardigan on for some much needed warmth. The ball was in his court now, and he wasn’t sure which move to take. Bruce had said something about poison in his blood, but how was he supposed to know what that meant for sure? The only person who’d know was unconscious, and that was a bloody big help for sure.

            “The trouble you cause me Master Wayne.”

            And so his silent vigil began.

 

 

            The first twenty four hours saw Alfred in a tizzy. Bruce’s condition changed rapidly, from cold sweats, to raging fever, to Bruce nearing consciousness in a dazed frenzy. All the while he sat, trying to do whatever he could to calm and soothe him. But once the cycle had repeated twice, Bruce stopped moving all together. And that’s when Alfred made the call.

            Lucius Fox had always been a reliable man, back to the heyday of Thomas and Martha. At this point, he was the only person Alfred could think of that had the knowledge, and resources, to save Bruce. His friend arrived promptly, Bruce’s situation seeming dire enough.

            “I’ll have to take his blood sample back to R&D, work on synthesizing an antidote to whatever he’s gotten into his system.” Lucius filled a small vile with Bruce’s blood, and sealed it inside a biohazard envelope.

            “Will you have enough time?” Alfred asked, his eyes straying back to Bruce’s still form.

            “He’ll be fine Alfred. You have my word.” Knowing Lucius didn’t say things lightly, Alfred clapped him on the back and shook his hand. 

            “Thank you Lucius.”

            Mr. Fox left Wayne Manor, promising he’d be back in a few hours.

            Alfred thought those few hours would be the longest he’d ever experience.

            He was wrong.

 

            After Lucius injected Bruce with the antidote, time seemed to stand still. Neither of the men knew what to expect, so when nothing happened they were mildly surprised.

            “It might take a while to work through his system. He got quite a concentrated dose of an aerosol hallucinogen; I’m surprised it hasn’t left permanent damage.”

            “Then I’ll wait.”

            The next twenty-four hours went down as the longest in Alfred’s life. The years that went by when Bruce was missing were nothing compared to the feelings that he was experiencing. Because now Bruce’s life was in Alfred’s court, and he’d be damned if he was going to let Bruce die on his watch.

            So when Bruce groggily awoke after the forty-eight hour mark, it took all of Alfred’s willpower not to grab him in a vicious hug. Instead, he calmly mixed the rest of the antidote Lucius had brought into a glass of water, knowing it would still taste dreadful.

            “How long was I out?”

            “Two days.” _More like twenty years._ “It’s your birthday.” And as an unspoken present, Alfred vowed to see to it that Bruce saw his next.


	4. The Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Bruce's 30th and nothing goes according to plan. Alfred is nearing the end of his fuse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had to take some dialogue from the film and as always, I do not own Batman Begins and claim no rights to it. I'm merely borrowing it humbly.  
> Enjoy.

Alfred paused, hearing the tell-tale crunching noises of car tires treading heavily on the gravel drive that led up to the estate. He had high hopes when Rachel had come to visit, hopes that were immediately squashed upon catching bits of conversation floating through the foyer. Rachel wasn't coming to Bruce's party, and now, hearing Bruce pacing away at a determined rate, Alfred wasn't too sure Bruce was coming either. 

"...but Master Wayne the guests will be arriving." Alfred interjected, rounding a corner and catching up with Bruce. 

"Keep them happy until I arrive." Alfred sensed the shift in Bruce's voice; gone was the light, carefree tone he used when speaking to Rachel. Another shade of Bruce had been drawn, and now he was tense and unreachable. "Tell them that joke you know."  _What bloody joke-_ Alfred's thought was interrupted by the sudden presence of a small white box in his hand, and the sudden emptiness of the corridor he was standing in. He stayed put though, knowing there was nothing he could do now to deter Bruce from his course of action. 

The sound of discordant piano keys being played snapped Alfred out of his growing concern for his ward's tunnel-vision and turned his attention to the small box in his palm. Bruce  _had_ opened it at least, and as Alfred lifted the lid, a small, albeit sad, smile played on his lips. The treasured arrowhead and handwritten note brought back some of his best memories: memories of the entire Wayne family alive and well-  _barring broken arms of course._ Alfred stroked the rough yet polished surface and gently replaced the lid. Placing the box gingerly in his pocket, Alfred strode off towards the main foyer of the manor, already thinking of where and how to display the keepsake. However, these thoughts disappeared quickly as Alfred realized how much he needed to do for this  _bloody party_ that Bruce may or may not be attending. It wasn't often that Alfred found himself sighing, but now was one of those times.

The large banner proclaiming " _Happy Birthday Bruce!"_   would need to be taken down, as well as the large blue and white '30' that was displayed above the mantle. Alfred had put those decorations up early that morning, in an attempt to bring back the tradition that Martha had started thirty years prior. For the night's event however, they were much too personal. _Such a shame, Martha would've loved these,_ Alfred thought wistfully, pulling down the large balloon three. Soon, the room was transformed, large silver and blue balloon structures parked in ever corner and over the fireplace. It was cool and impersonal, and the decor could've passed in any event. Alfred sighed again, taking in the sights. In only a couple hours, the first of the many guests would start trickling in and he'd be left to please and coddle them, filling them with liquor and lies of Bruce's whereabouts. 

"But what bloody joke was he talking about?" He said to no one in particular. 

\- - -

The party was in full swing when Alfred took a moment to step out, the caterers and other servants fully capable of keeping the guests sated. Bruce had yet to make an appearance and Alfred was starting to get the feeling that something of a much greater magnitude was happening. The library Alfred's place of retreat, it's paintings and volumes of historical and medical texts keeping him plenty company. The television was on low, a quiet murmur in the background. It was only when he heard "We interrupt this scheduled broadcast for an important news update," did Alfred search fervently for the remote to turn the volume up.

"Bloody hell Bruce!" He exclaimed upon seeing the Tumbler streaking through the night, followed by hordes of police cars. The destruction left in his wake left Alfred sick. Unconsciously he began to pace, his shiny black shoes etching a trail into the plush carpet. Alfred's stomach turned itself into knots, partly due to the anger he felt at Bruce for being so reckless and partly because of how  _bloody worried_ he was.   
 _You're going to be the death of me, Bruce._ Alfred thought as the news report began to repeat. He knew the chase must have ended, presumably with the Batman disappearing into the night. It was now only a matter of time before Bruce appeared, a fresh tuxedo hiding the marks of his nightly escapades. 

Beneath his feet, Alfred swore he could feel the rumble of a particularly powerful engine.

\- - -

Words were exchanged and Alfred felt like he'd been slapped repeatedly, felt that feeling of disappointment spread through him like a sickness. Bruce's eyes were hard and cold, the way they were when he wasn't  _really Bruce_ , when he was just pretending. Alfred tried to bring back the spark of humanity he knew was there,  _somewhere_ , tried every way he knew how, but his attempts were fruitless. Bruce was walking away, mask on and back straight, to dismiss the people Alfred had coddle all evening, to destroy the tarnished name that Alfred had sought to protect for so long. 

"Those are Bruce Wayne's guests out there, sir. You have a name to maintain!"

  
"I don't care about my name. "  _Well that's bloody obvious!_  
  


"It's not just your name, sir! It's your father's name! And it's all that's left of him. Don't destroy it." Alfred felt tired, saddened in a way he hadn't felt since Bruce's departure so many years ago. Even then, he didn't feel the way his did now: disappointed. He turned, one last glance at Bruce telling him what he needed to know: the false smile was in place and his Bruce was gone.

\- - - 

The sight of Rachel, unconscious in the Batcave, made Alfred truly regretful. Things had gone too far; Rachel should've never gotten involved. With as much gentleness as he could muster, Alfred carried Rachel out of the cave, having to stop several times to catch his breath.  _Bruce could've have gotten her to a bloody car for me?_ He thought angrily as he eventually managed to get her outside and to his Rolls. A few of the waitstaff taking a smoke outside eyed him warily, but Alfred just threw them a half-arsed excuse and tried to situate Rachel as well as he could. With one last glance at the Manor, Alfred drove off into the night. His stomach clenched at the thought of what he'd come back to this evening.   
 _Don't do something bloody stupid, Bruce, please._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well it's sure been quite awhile since I've last updated. Thanks to all who've left kudos and comments, I really appreciate them all!  
> As usual, all mistakes are mine and this is an unbeta'd work. Let me know if you see an glaring mistakes!  
> Thanks and I hope you enjoy!


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